


His Charge

by Emono



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Autumn, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Michael has a puppy so get ready for pupper feels, Modern Era, Nature Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: Michael lives in the middle of a forest and he loves autumn. He throws himself into the season every year. He's not sure why he loves it so much - maybe its the baking, or the smell of the turning leaves, or something else that lurks in the woods that watches over him. Slowly, the dark god shows himself to Michael, afraid to be spurned by his last charge in the old wood. Will Michael embrace this creature who loves him so dearly or will he shy away from such old magic?(TLDR: Michael gets his fall aesthetics on and Ryan is an old woodland god who is madly in love with him but is super shy)





	1. Prologue

Autumn comes with an unexpected suddenness that makes Michael giddy.

 

It happens every year. One night he’ll go to sleep with the windows closed and the fan on, graced in nothing but his boxers, and the next morning he’ll wake up buried under the covers with a cold nose. It was his favorite time of the year. There was something almost mystical about autumn with the changing color of the leaves and the temperature drop. It always gave him a strange tummy feeling, a lightness he couldn’t describe that put him at ease and brought him to life. It was an intimate, cozy season that he reveled in. Michael loved tossing his summer clothes into a bin and pulling out a much beloved wooden chest full of sweaters and sweat pants. He liked to spend a full day washing and reacquainting himself with his winter clothes, eager for the cold weather. It had slowly become a ritual, especially since he moved into his grandmother’s estate. 

 

He’d never liked it in Jersey and had made that very clear to his entire family he thought cities were filth pits. His grandma had owned a beautiful two story chalet-style log mansion right smack in the middle of the woods in Oregon with old money on even older land that was protected by the state. Michael had gone through hell with paperwork but legally he’d claimed he wouldn’t mar the land if they let him live there. He effectively got grandfathered into a house that was built before the protection had been declared and his charming smile hadn’t exactly hurt his odds either.

 

The nearby town was sweet and quiet, though superstitious and a little out-there with their local legends. They were good, wholesome people and the town was a decent driving distance for monthly supply trips. Michael had managed to rig up high speed internet thanks to some nearby call centers and had long stopped caring about phone signal or cable. He had his online friends and lived off a steady flow of art commissions and ghost writing that he could do from the comfort of his own home. 

 

This was going on his third year out in the wilderness. He was in love with the forest and all that came along with it. The smell of the underbrush, the cloudy sky and the canopies that marred it. But even the protective calm of the forest couldn’t stop him from having the nightmares of his life before. They quieted during the fall and winter but once the sun came back so did the memories.

 

He’d been eighteen when he’d fallen in love with his ex-boyfriend, Joseph Webster. He’d been a man twice his age who had plucked him right out of high school.  Joe had spoken fluid German and broken French, whispering sweet nothings into his ear until he’d been completely besotted. The man had filled his head with notions that twisted him all around. Notions like a punch was followed with a kiss, that his ass was to fuck whenever Joe or his friends wanted. Michael had spent almost every day for a year drunk out of his mind trying to cope with the “love” the man of his dreams doled out. 

 

Michael considered himself smart. Maybe not exactly educated since college was always a pipe dream but certainly street-smart. He’d never imagined himself being abused. He hadn’t put up with it from his father or brother and he’d been damn sure he’d never let any partner put their hands on him. But the first smack had been because he was “mouthy”, the second in the middle of sex, the third and fourth coming after too many drinks and a sweet apology. The violence had become so normal so  _ quickly _ . He’d made excuses to his family and friends as he slowly pulled away from them. 

 

_ “He just gets rough when he drinks. I’m the only one who can calm him down. Just leave him alone or you’ll rile him up.” _

 

In just a year he’d turned into a pathetic, mousy mess of an alcoholic who hid behind sunglasses and thick hoodies to try and make the marks disappear from view. 

 

Then Joe beat Michael so bad over a carton of cigarettes that it landed him in the hospital for a month. He’d left the mournful doctor and concerned nurses with nowhere to go. He couldn’t go back to his apartment with Joe, he refused, but he had no money for another place. Soon he’d become a burden while couch surfing between all his friends and relatives. They all grew sick of him. But not his grandmother. She had moved out to Oregon years before but they had kept in touch through calls and texts. She’d known his struggle, his agony, how badly he’d wanted an escape.

 

Michael had been homeless a few months when she passed. It had been a heartbreaking blow to call her to try and get some comfort only to have a funeral director answer. He got a server job at a busy restaurant and the second he had enough money for a plane ticket he bailed to get to her funeral. She’d made lots of friends out in the hipster state and they had nothing but kind things to say. He’d never had so many homemade casseroles and desserts placed in front of him nor so many warm hugs. He said his peace at the funeral and stayed for the reading of the will only so he could spent some more time in the company of his grandmother’s friends but was surprised when his name was called. 

 

No one seemed surprised that she left him the house. In fact, the sweet older ladies had actually gone through the place and cleaned up for him, stocking the fridge and getting him all the essentials he’d need to start his life there. They had knowing glints in their eyes and though he should have found it creepy, he was endeared and touched by the thoughtfulness.

 

He didn’t buy another plane ticket.

 

The isolation, the quiet...it was exactly what he’d needed. Out here in the woods he’d flourished. He stayed with his parents through the second winter but only because such heavy snow had been predicted. Otherwise, he thrived out on his own. Michael spent his days working on his art or learning new skills, testing out all sorts of paints and techniques. Sewing, cooking, even some whittling - all the things he used to think were girly or stupid suddenly became fascinating. He went on jogs in the crisp mornings and chopped firewood in the evening when it was needed. He taught himself house repairs through YouTube with increasing success and only minor injuries. First aid was a quick need-to-know as well and he found himself spending some afternoons just Googling all the different plants and herbs in the areas to help with his limited medical supply.

 

Michael loved the person he was becoming in this forest. The woods were alive, they had a presence that couldn’t be denied. Whatever inhabited this place, he felt like it was accepting him with open arms.

 

o0o0o0o

 

The night was kind to Michael as he slept a deep sleep. His bare chest rose in a sluggish rhythm and the dark sheets pooled around his waist in contrast to freckle-peppered skin. The window creaked, glass and wood groaning quietly under an unseen force before the latch flipped itself. The window gradually slid open and a breeze drifted in, fluttering the curtains. Cinnamon curls stirred upon the pillow and Michael sighed as goosebumps cropped up all over his smooth chest. 

 

A figure appeared beside the bed with little more than a rustle. It climbed upon the bed but the mattress did not dip under the creature’s weight. He was there but  _ not _ , caught between two planes. Golden hair kissed ivory cheeks and eyes the color of sapphires with the glow of the moon roamed over the boy. Fingers reached towards Michael but the creature paused as he saw the stark contrast of his digits above the human’s belly as if afraid he’d hurt him.

 

His fingers were tar black and cracked like a strange hybrid of tree bark and fine leather, rough where the human was so soft. The distorted flesh sleeved up his wrist and faded out above his elbows, his feet mimicking the pattern up to the swell of his thighs. The same black patches of weathered flesh rested over the crest of his throat and splayed the middle of his chest, fanning like wings along his shoulder blades and down his spine. His true form was nothing but the ugly flesh but he contained it around the humans. Especially around this one, though he had never actually been seen.

 

The creature cupped Michael’s cheek and breathed out a gust of chilly air. The human was hot to the touch, his fragile heart beating behind glass-thin bones that could break with a strong press. His delicate little one. His last forest dweller. His charge.

 

_ ‘Michael.’ _ The name tickled the air. Michael sighed and smiled a little, leaning faintly into the touch.  _ Rian  _ they used to call him when he was fresh and young with a legion of followers from across the sea to feed him their loyalty and love. When he entered Michael’s dreams, the boy called him “Ryan” in his precious little drawling accent. He preferred that version over any other that had been thrust upon him.

 

Ryan leant down and pressed feather light kisses up Michael’s belly and chest, nose bussing the small buds on his chest to watch them stiffen for him. Soon his mouth met a silky soft throat and hunger bubbled up. How he longed to press against his boy, to ravish him with unearthly pleasure of the flesh until they remembered nothing else but each other. Ryan wanted to make himself known to his boy and share life with him. Michael lived so simply and freely, and he had only grown more comfortable in his time here. Ryan wanted to join him, live with him instead of hovering on the outskirts.

 

But he could not risk scaring his human off. Ryan hovered over Michael’s lips and knew a kiss would wake him. It could possibly hurt him if he was not careful. It had been so long since he’d interacted with a human that he often forgot his power. Especially now. The time of the harvest was here once more and he would only grow more powerful as the days came to be. He faded when the warmth of the sun returned and the other Old God took his turn to rule the forest.  _ Jackin _ , his mirror for as long as they had both lived within the woods. They had co-existed long before they had been given names by the humans who had trickled into their realm. Jackin’s power came from the breath of spring and the overflow of summer life. He would be falling into a sleep when winter came and Ryan would once again stalk this land in full flesh. 

 

Maybe this would be the season he claimed Michael. 

 

“I missed you as I slept through the summer, my Michael,” Ryan murmured to himself as he watched the human’s delicate lashes twitch against his cheek. “But I am here now, my lovely little forest boy.”

 

Ryan dared to kiss the human’s forehead and hummed at the feeling against his cool lips. 

 

Michael woke with a quiet gasp and burst into a grin the moment he saw his breath. The room was chilly and smelled like crisp leaves and rich, deep earth. He rubbed his eyes and turned towards the window to see it open. He was glad he’d left it open last night though he didn’t remember doing it. The rustle of the air through the leaves was like music to his ears. He sat up with a smile and wrapped the sheets up around his shoulders.

 

Autumn was here.


	2. Second Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael's two companions.

**Sorry about super short chapter. I didn't' realize this chap should have been attached to the first one. ALSO - you guys are wayWAY too nice to me! Thank you for such amazing comments.[Here's Luz](https://68.media.tumblr.com/f39d233ce58229e18f0876e721a4a618/tumblr_ofdjrwuqTq1r4uv0wo1_1280.jpg)**

 

* * *

 

 

Michael had two constant companions in his life.

 

There was the sprocker spaniel puppy that had been napping in a wicker basket the day he moved in. She’d been a gift from the whole town as a heartfelt welcome, delivered tenderly by one of his grandmother’s friends during the supply trip they had run for him. Michael had fallen in love immediately. She was white with messy black spots that mimicked freckles, big black splotches over her eyes and spreading to her fluffy ears. She’d been so warm and small there in her bed, snuffling and kicking her tiny feet. He’d touched her fat puppy belly and had nearly cried at how warm and vulnerable she was. He’d vowed to protect and love her in the way he should have done himself through his relationship.

 

He’d named her Luz and they became inseparable.

 

Then there was Gavin.

 

Gavin was a stranger who’d wandered into Michael’s yard the very first year he’d moved in. Gavin was one of those hippy campers who had apparently set up in the thickest area of the wood and explored for fun, hiking and hunting and gathering to “get in touch with himself”. Despite being polar opposites, they had become fast friends though Michael had never visited the other’s campsite. Gavin was always the one to find _him_. Luz loved him so Michael’s suspicions had died pretty quickly. Plus, Gavin was a skinny little guy, Michael was sure he could take him in a fight if things got hinky.

 

And Gavin was _British_. That accent had diminished his intimidation levels pretty quickly. Despite being from out of the country, he seemed overly familiar with the area. Apparently he had moved from his motherland a long time ago and had fallen in love with the forest. Gavin was generous with his knowledge. He showed Michael where all the best mushrooms and berries grew. He helped Michael plan and plant the vegetable/herb garden in the back yard and lended a hand when a tool shed needed to be built.

 

It was more than manual labor and forest wisdom. Gavin helped him heal from his past in a thousand ways Michael couldn’t even name. The Brit was funny and kind, warm, an amazing listener who never pried. Michael had never met someone so zen. He was at ease with Gavin and told him everything, spilling things he’d never told another living soul (besides Luz). The pair shared deep secrets with one another and stayed up late into the night talking about everything and nothing all at once.

 

Gavin was his strongest human contact and though that sounded sad out loud, Michael wouldn’t have it any other way.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The chill of autumn brought the hunger back to Michael. He started binge watching cooking videos on YouTube and cracked open the recipe books his grandmother (and her friends) had left him. He always had to cook for himself but he got creative and hands-on through the colder months. Today was chili. 

 

Michael huffed as he looked over his many bottles of ingredients, lips pursed tight as he wracked his brain for the next step. He stuck his finger in the pot and stuck the saucey digit in his mouth, frowning around it. 

 

“I’m missing something,” he declared firmly, frustrated with himself as he didn’t get the kick he wanted. “How fucking hard is chili?” 

 

Luz was napping on one of her many cushion beds tucked into the corner of the kitchen. Her furry ear perked up but she didn’t so much as blink.

 

“Fat lotta’ good you are,” Michael drawled, amused at how Luz was so used to his agitated cooking rants that it didn’t set off her protective instincts. He stuck his finger back in the batch and tasted again, humming thoughtfully. He went to the fridge and threw open the door, squatting down to look through it. He mused over bell peppers and onions, going through a mental rolodex of ingredients that he could dump into the pot. His brow furrowed up and his lips quirked to the side as he contemplated what he’d done wrong.

 

Michael didn’t see the cabinet open by itself. It was slow, quiet. The clutter inside silently moved aside before a previously hidden spice jar of red pepper flakes eased to the front. It floated down onto the counter before the cabinet shut itself. 

 

Michael stood up with a groan, knees protesting briefly. He looked over to glare at the pot but caught sight of the red pepper flakes sitting innocently beside the rejected cayenne. He let out a small  _ oh  _ of realization before rolling his eyes.

 

“Dumbass,” Michael muttered as he snatched up the jar. He dumped a bunch in with a smug grin. “I’m so fucking good at this.” 

 

o0o0o0o

 

Michael grunted with each swing of the ax, heaving with much less difficulty than he had the first year he’d needed firewood. He’d long discarded his shirt and his jeans were sticking to him in uncomfortably sensitive places. He was sweating his ass off. Even if it wasn’t as bad as it used to be, it wasn’t exactly easy work. Each chop took a little bit more out of him but he kept on. If he didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done. Simple. He panted for breath and he could feel his stamina running out as the heat got to him. 

 

He heard the breeze before he felt it. It hit his skin with a welcome chill and he sighed, sticking his axe in the stump. He leaned his head back and embraced it, smiling as the breeze kissed his damp chest and flushed cheeks. It felt amazing. Just what he’d needed. 

 

“Christ, that’s nice,” Michael moaned softly.

 

_ ‘Michael.’ _

 

He jolted at the sound. His eyes popped open and he looked around wildly, heart jumping up in his throat. But it was only for a few moments. There was no one around, no one had spoken. He was out in the middle of nowhere and noises were bound to happen. Between the wildlife and the leaves, one could hear anything out here. 

 

Any suspicion was forgotten when he saw Luz bound around the corner of the house covered head to paw in mud. “Luz! What the  _ fuck _ ?”

 

o0o0o0o

 

Michael had a roast in the oven along with hand churned cornbread. The kitchen smelled savory and rich but he had a sweet tooth that couldn’t be tamed. Luz had been a ball of energy around his feet all afternoon, excited by the smell of food, so he’d put on  _ The Nightmare Before Christmas _ to distract her. She’d always been fixated on music and every autumn he whipped out the DVD as background noise.

 

Luz loved the season as much as he did. Autumn meant crunchy leaves, no fleas, no shaving, and her favorite movie character. 

 

He heard cartoon yipping before Luz’s answering bark and happy panting. He laughed as he dumped chocolate chips into a glass bowl. He had cream and sugar simmering in a saucepan just waiting to be turned into fudge. “That’s right, Luzzy. You love Zero don’t you? He’s just like you. Cute little fuck.”

 

Michael heard thumps before the clicking of puppy paws on tile. He looked in time to see Luz slide to a halt halfway into the kitchen, tongue lolling cutely before she took back off to the living room. He knew she wanted him to go in there and watch with her but they had the whole season to watch all the classics. She didn’t mind  _ Halloweentown  _ but she loved the creepy singing in  _ Hocus Pocus  _ and was starting to learn what the cover looked like. His smart little pup would be all over him when the snow came. She practically slept with his copy of  _ A Christmas Carol  _ when winter hit. There were a few more barks when Jack started singing and he hummed along.

 

Something happened when Michael lifted the now-boiling saucepan of cream. He knew it was too hot, that he’d fucked up, but he ignored it. As he started to pour it over the chocolate his arm gave a violent tremble and he fumbled. The searing liquid spilled over the counter and drenched his hand, pain shooting through him. 

 

“Fuck!” Michael cried as he stumble to the sink, smacking the tap to shove his hand under the cold water. He bowed his head, whimpering from the hurt and sting of the burn. His hand was shaking and he was sure it was bad but he couldn’t bare to look. A startled gasp wrenched from his lips as something touched him. It felt like...like a pair of hands, encompassing his on. Then the pain was gone.

 

Michael collapsed to the floor with wide eyed surprise, turning to press his back to the sink and drawing his hands in close to his chest. He stared down at his fingers with open awe. They were red but they didn’t hurt. He flexed his fingers but there was nothing. Like it hadn’t happened. 

 

Luz came pattering in with a few sharp, worried barks. She scuttled between his knees and started sniffing him out, damp nose pressing over his hand and arm like she was looking for the burn. Finding nothing but still worried, Luz buried face in his stomach and whine.

 

“Shh, sweetie-babe,” Michael soothed, releasing the grip he had on his baffling hand to pet her. “I’m fine, Luzzy. I guess I just scared myself and didn’t get it too bad. Weird. I swear…” He trailed off, frowning. Maybe the cream hadn’t been as hot as he’d imagined. Luz licked his hand and it didn’t hurt so he forced his mind to be at ease. “Fuck baking, am I right?”

 

Luz yipped and he gave her a tender ear scratch. 

 

o0o0o0o

 

When Michael got stuck on a project he got fixated to the point of crazed obsession. His recent project was a forest scene straight from his property for the autumn themed charity auction in town. He’d committed himself to a whole series to show different aspects of his forest - the river to the east, the thick canopy over the softest moss bed more to the north, the random flower bed near where a family of squirrels had spent at least three generations nesting, and the valley further south where fog liked to pool. He wanted to capture the beauty and mysticism of the woods so that maybe the locals would warm up to it. His new home meant so much to him and he wanted to catch some of that love within brushstrokes. 

 

Michael hunched in his stool as his hand moved across the canvas. The colors were starting to get blurry and he vaguely wondered just how long he’d been at it. He blinked dully and yawned, rubbing his eyes. He felt cool paint stain his cheek but he wasn’t bothered. Fatigue was creeping up on him but he was sure he could finish. He just had to keep going, he had to push himself a little more and then he could be done. 

 

Michael fought his heavy lids but they kept falling shut for longer and longer moments. He jerked himself awake once, twice, and then his eyes rolled back. The paint brush slipped and clattered to the floor. Color droplets flicked across the wood as Michael’s head dropped forward. He wobbled dangerously, heading forward almost into the painting before gradually tilting back. He started to fall, the stool tipping, but the boy fell right into a pair of waiting warms.

 

Ryan appeared in a flesh form just in time to catch his charge. He had been watching Michael work for hours and the poor darling had taken himself to the edge of harm. 

 

“You exhausted yourself, little one,” Ryan crooned sweetly down at the sleeping human as he carried him through the house. “What a talent. You truly captured the essence of the forest, sweetling. You will show them our beautiful home and they will weep in joy.”

 

Ryan entered the bedroom and laid Michael down in his plush bed. He was careful as he removed the boy’s pants and socks, plucking off his hat and setting it aside. Ryan opened up the heavy wooden trunk at the base of the bed and took out one of the thicker quilts. He remembered Michael’s grandmother with fondness. The woman had been respectful and sweet tempered with a true talent for growing herbs and sewing. She had truly been a master of creating something beautiful out of nothing. 

 

He had taken care of her and now he could take care of her grandson, though his love for the young man was much different than what he had felt for her. He wished he could thank her for the blessing that was Michael. 

 

Ryan laid the blanket over his charge and tucked it around him with purposefully gentle fingers. “Once upon a time you would have been the most coveted prize. A celebrated artist and beauty that would have villagers lined up from here through the fields to get a chance at wooing you. How grateful I am to have you all to myself.”

 

Ryan laid his hand on Michael’s forehead and slowly drew his palm back. He left behind a shimmery red haze that seeped into the human’s flesh. “No nightmares tonight, my boy. That foul man’s memory will not harm you while I am here.”

 

o0o

 

Michael woke in lazy waves of consciousness. He hummed lowly and stretched like a sluggish cat, arms stretching high over his head and toes curling as pleasant tingles shot through him. He could hear the birds outside and Luz thumping around somewhere in the living room but nothing that would have woken him. Everything was peaceful and warm beneath the quilt. He drew in on himself and curled up beneath it with a smile. 

 

He couldn’t remember getting into bed the night before but he was grateful he had. It must have been two or three when he’d stumbled into bed but he felt wonderfully well rested. He’d been working on his paintings and then…

 

Luz barked for her breakfast and he laughed to himself as he drew the blanket up over his head. Eventually she got bored of being ignored and he heard her run into the room, snuffling indignantly. Luz yipped and ran out but he waited and she came back in, offended at being ignored yet again. He silently snickered as he felt her jump up on the bed and pad up on top of him. He patiently waited, wondering if she’d start chewing on that blanket to get to him or dig.

 

Something warm pressed to his blanket-covered ear before he heard a firm  _ boof _ . 

 

Michael burst into giggles and threw the covers back, beaming into his pup’s sweet face. “Good morning, Luz. I was totally asleep. Hungry?”

 

She boofed again with a look that said ‘ _ I know what you were doing asshole and I’m not amused _ ’. He cupped her face and crooned silly nothings at, scratching behind her ears until she melted against him with happy tail thumps that hit him in the stomach.

 

“Who’s a good girl? Who’s the prettiest puppy in the whole world? Who’s hungry?”

 

Luz jumped up on all fours before bounding off toward the kitchen with the a series of happy dog noises that were most likely the equivalent of, ‘ _ Me! Me! I’m a good girl! I’m hungry! _ ’

 


End file.
